


Five Plus One Things Billy Rocks Sucks At

by Cahaya (Tarlaith)



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alcohol, Chocolate, M/M, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 05:17:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8191618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlaith/pseuds/Cahaya
Summary: Billy is a tease.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Five plus one things Billy sucks at! ;-) The town names are from a random Wild West Town Names generator. In addition to the main themes of the drabbles I used story cubes/dice to set the background stories (you can find them in the brackets). Disclaimer: the Mag7 are not mine. Sadly.
> 
> Beta-ed by my good friend Trinculo.  
> Happy reading!

**1) Fingers (Hammer)**

Goodnight Robicheaux was a vigilante of the old school: wary, deceitful and, by nature, a loner. One had to be, in this awful place the important people out East cheerfully called “Gods promised land.” To survive here, you either needed the Devil's own luck or the stubbornness of a donkey. Or good friends.

Goodnight had tried the first two options. But with so many demons at his heels, it was hard to believe any entity out there gave even the slightest fuck about him. And the stubbornness... well, he was still breathing, but he hadn't felt truly alive in a long time.

Billy Rocks was a much needed breath of fresh air. He was wary and a loner, and didn't talk much, but he was not deceitful. He avoided trouble as much as he could, was handy with knives – and, to Goodnight's secret delight, very easy on the eyes.

He had picked up the tight-lipped Chinese two months ago in a tiny hamlet that was not on any map, deciding on a whim that he'd be more useful alive than dead. They had been inseparable ever since.

To Goodnight's astonishment, they worked even better than he thought. Their _tricks_ worked. They made enough money to get comfortably from one settlement to the next. And where-ever the sheriffs forbade such kind of innocent entertainment, they found other work.

That was how they ended up with the miners from Obsidian Creek, up in the mountains their stream originated from, and helped them to set up the explosives needed to get to whatever ore they were trying to get to. It wasn't gold, luckily. Both Goodnight and Billy had already experienced the terrible consequences of man's greed, and they wanted no part in it.

But this was good work, and they had been at it since early morning. Now, it was sunset. Goodnight dropped the huge iron hammer and wiped the sweat from his brow. His back ached. “I can't believe they do that _every day_. I'm beat!”

“They only plan to,” Billy said from where he was perched on the ground, holding the chisel. “If they find the ore.”

Goodnight stretched, feeling his shoulders pop. “Seriously, Rocks, how do you do it? Even after fourteen hours of physical work, you still look as composed and impeccable as you did this morning.”

If Billy was confused by the change of topic, he didn't show it. “One hole left. Finish this, then we can go back.”

“And still as unimpressed. Fine, okay. I'll give you a hole.” Groaning, Goodnight lifted the hammer and brought it down again.

Billy _yelped_ and jerked his hands back. “OW! What are you – dammit!”

“Sorry, sorry, that was not... I didn't mean to...,” Goodnight sputtered. And then: “Are you _bleeding_?” 

He had never seen his new friend bleed before. He was too careful for that – or simply too good.

Carefully, Billy unfurled his long, elegant pianist fingers. He was wearing his fingerless gloves and his skin was lighter on the inside of his palms. But that was the only thing Goodnight could make out. It was too dark and they were too dirty to see much else.

“I don't know,” Billy said, still eyeing his fingers suspiciously. Then, all of a sudden, he brought his index finger up to his mouth and _licked_ it.

Goodnight gasped, and turned quickly to mask it as a cough. “What are you doing?!” It came out louder than necessary.

“Tastes like copper,” Billy said, by way of explanation. He stood up and wiped his hands on his vest. “I think the doctor is still up. Sorry, Goodnight, but you have to finish this alone. See you.”

With that, he sucked the two supposedly bleeding fingers back into his mouth. His lips were glistering in the moonlight, dark and moist with saliva and blood.

Goodnight felt his whole body flush and bit back a groan. Damn, he would never be able to look at Billy's hands the same again.

Then something else occurred to him. “Hey, wait, what do you mean alo– huh? Gone.” He scowled. “Damn, that Asian moves too fast.”

 

**2) Bottles (Snowy Mountains)**

They left Obsidian Creek a few days later, with Billy's hand still bandaged up, and chose to head up into the mountains. At least _they_ did, but Goodnight's horse was having other ideas – and that should have been the first warning sign. As so many others in his life, Goodnight didn't heed it.

“That's why it's your fault we're up here, caught in a snowstorm,” Billy concluded, twirling the nearly empty bottle of whiskey between his fingers. His black, bottomless eyes glinted in the firelight. The orange flames also made his cheekbones look sharper, and there was the hint of a blush on his cheeks.

He was drunk, and he was handsome, and Goodnight desperately wanted to tell him so. But they were huddled together in this damn cave and would most likely need each other's warmth during the night. He didn't want to make this closeness unbearable for his already secluded friend. So he watched, transfixed, as Billy lifted the bottle and threw back his head, exposing that long, tanned neck.

Something twisted in Goodnight's stomach and he had to look away to keep himself from doing something stupid. Like press his lips to Billy's skin and suck at it until it turned purple. Up here, nobody would ever find his body.

His friend swayed against him, warm and sleepy, and Goodnight instinctively steadied him. Billy swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing.

Then, instead of setting down the empty bottle, Billy held it to his lips and swirled his tongue around the hole. When he was sure he'd gathered up every last drop, he dipped it inside.

“Gods,” Goodnight whispered. “Billy, stop that.”

Black eyes blinked at him owlishly. “It was good booze. More?” Billy was slurring slightly, his accent heavier than usual, and it was probably the most adorable sound Goodnight had ever heard. Great, now he would never be able to look at bottles the same again, either. He pried it out of Billy's hands. “You, my friend, have had enough. Sleep now, I'll keep watch.”

“Mhm,” Billy mumbled. “Okay.”

He snuggled closer and was fast asleep before Goodnight got chance to protest. At least staying awake wasn't a problem – no man could sleep with a boner like that.

 

**3) Cigarettes (Indians)**

By morning, Goodnight's hard on had subsided. They made it out of the cave without trouble – only to run straight into a bunch of redskins on their way down the other side of the mountain. Billy spotted them first and immediately drew his colts. “Goody.”

Goodnight looked up from the map he was studying. “What?”

“Company,” Billy said, eyes fixed on the snowy scrub.

Goodnight tensed. “Who?”

“Indians.”

“Oh, great! Think they know a way out of here?”

The look Billy shot him was _priceless_. It was somewhere between astonishment and incredulity, with a hint of 'are-you-kidding-me' beneath it. “Do you want to find out?”

Goodnight stuffed the map back into his saddle bag and reached for his shotgun. His hands were numb, but this time it wasn't because of the memories. “Not really, but I think we won't get a choice.”

He was right, they didn't. The Indians were on them the moment they left the shade of the trees. The saddest thing: they were all dressed for the weather. One of them was carrying a dead deer over his shoulder.

Luckily, they weren't looking for a fight. It was just a hunting party. Their tribe was currently not involved in any scuffles with the 'white men' and keen on keeping it that way.

Still, they insisted on escorting Goodnight and Billy out of their territory, which the two outlaws certainly didn't mind. As a thanks, they later sat down together to share a smoke.

Well, everyone except Goodnight, because he was too busy watching his partner. The images from last night still burned in his mind. Somehow, the daylight just made everything worse. Billy was almost _glowing_ in the sun. Incandescent.

Breathtaking.

And looking at Goodnight. Damn.

Goodnight shot him a grin to cover up his growing discomfort – especially the one in his pants. “Something wrong?”

Billy frowned and shook his head, in that barely noticeable, unmoving way he had. Then he brought the cigarette to his mouth, closed his lips around it and hollowed his cheeks.

Son of a...

 

**4) Snake Bites (Thunderstorm)**

Sometimes, the Wild West could be a real hell hole. Especially when someone had the misfortune of accidentally getting lost. Or when a horse sprained a leg in the middle of nowhere. Or it was just one of those days it came down in buckets.

Or all of the above.

And they were out of booze, too. Goodnight pulled his hat further over his eyes and cursed their luck. They had been stumbling through the undergrowth for hours now: he was thirsty, he was tired, and he never wanted to see another forest in his life. He hoped Billy felt the same way, but the Asian, surprise, surprise, didn't say a word.

He was just about to turn and ask him – anything to kill the silence – when a sharp pain on his ankle send him straight into the closest fern.

Billy was at his side immediately. “Goody? You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just something...,” confused, Goodnight groped for his leg, but his fingers slipped on the wet cloth. “Something bit me.”

Thunder rumbled over their heads.

“Bit you?” Billy furrowed his brows, alarmed. He pulled up the pant leg and pushed off Goodnight's left boot. There were two tiny puncture wounds, right on the inside of his left leg.

“Dammit, that's a snake-bite. Just what we need right now.”

Gently, Billy traced the wounds with his fingertips. They were warm on Goodnight's clammy skin. A stab of pain shot up his legs, like a thousand tiny, burning needles. Goodnight yelped. “ARGH!”

“Goody?!”

“Shit, shit, shit, owww. That _burns_!” Frantically, Goodnight grabbed at his leg. He didn't know what he was trying to accomplish, maybe rub the wound, that worked with mosquito bites. Billy slapped his hands away. “We need to get it out!”

The burning intensified. Goodnight's vision started to blur. He whimpered.

Something jerked his leg up, and then there was a sudden, moist warmth around the bite, leeching the pain away. Goodnight moaned. Slowly, he became aware of his surroundings again. “Stop that,” he whispered, as soon as he was able to. “It's just... maybe – argh – he finally got me...”

Billy was gazing at him, out of the corner of his eyes. He drew his lips back and spat. “Goody... do you trust me?”

Yes, of course. What a stupid question. Goodnight told him so, even though he still felt dizzy, and Billy nodded. “You'll not die here. Got that?”

He went back to his task, gently massaging Goodnight's calf as he drew out the last of the venom.

 

**5) Candy (Cup)**

Goodnight recovered fully from the bite – mostly thanks to Billy's quick thinking. At least that was what the doctor in Stagridge told them.

The settlement was small and didn't have much to offer: just a few farms, a chapel and a saloon. The next town was five day's ride away, and only if you had a willing horse. Since Goodnight's trusty steed still hobbled on his sprained leg, he and Billy decided to stay for a while.

On the upside: it was almost empty, and very quiet. After the townspeople had taken a curious look at their unexpected visitors, everyone went back to their work. Billy decided to take a walk, so Goodnight sat down at the bar alone and ordered for them both.

It was a good time to think about what happened, no matter how much he didn't want to. But he wasn't sure how long he could keep the lust that gnawed at his loins under control, and the sooner this was resolved, the better. Among his people – the outlaws, not the oh-so-holy, righteous catholics from the South – finding comfort with another man was not a crime. They all new how long the nights could get out here, and women were scarce. As long as such affairs where conducted out of view, nobody cared. But Goodnight wasn't sure how the Asians thought about that, and he didn't want to find out the hard way.

Just that moment, the Asian in question strolled in, a bigger smile on his face than Goodnight had ever seen before. “Look what I found!”

Before Goodnight got a chance to answer, Billy picked a small, brown cube out of his handkerchief and threw it in the air, only to catch it with his lips. Chewing happily, he held out the bundle. “Chocolate!”

“Good for you.”

Billy washed down the mouthful with some whiskey and wriggled his hand. “Want some?”

Goodnight shook his head. He'd never really liked sweet things, and usually preferred the spicy heartiness of a real meal. “No, thanks.”

“Your loss.”

Billy shrugged, picked out the next piece of chocolate and twirled it thoughtfully between his fingers. Suddenly, his face lit up. He dipped the edge of the cube into his cup and then licked off the drops. His tongue, red and damp, wrapped itself around the candy. He hummed, open-mouthed, eyes closed in pure bliss.

When he was sure the last taste of alcohol was gone, he pushed the chocolate in and followed it with his finger.

Then, he smirked at Goodnight.

_Son of a bitch!_

“Billy...” Goodnight growled. “You bastard.”

“What?” his friend asked. Innocently, he dragged the pad of his index finger against his lower lip.

Heat shot down to Goodnight's groin, pooling there, and made his erection throb painfully. He barely caught Billy's drawled “Want some now?”

Shaking with arousal, Goodnight jerked his head to the stairs. “Come on. I have a better use for your mouth.”

 

**+1) Goodnight (Axe)**

They stumbled up the stairs without bothering for a lamp and Goodnight bumped his toe twice while Billy made no sound at all. He was so close his breath tickled the hairs on Goodnight's neck. Their room was the only one up here, which was good, because Goodnight wasn't quite sure he would've found the correct one had there been more. Even if theirs was the only one with an axe's hilt for a handle.

Billy pushed him trough the door and locked it behind them. Then he hesitated, shoulders tensed. “Goody...”

“I'm here,” Goodnight mumbled, drew Billy against his chest and pressed his nose into his neck. Musky smell of sweat and sand and horses surrounded him, and his friend's lithe form was blissfully solid.

Gradually, Billy relaxed. His hands found Goodnight's wrists, circling them. He leaned back a tiny bit and turned his head in invitation.

Goodnight grinned, and leaned it. They met in a messy kiss, uncoordinated and way too wet, but also heavenly hot and slick. He could taste the chocolate on Billy's tongue, tangled with the memory of whiskey.

Billy turned in his arms and something hard dug into Goodnight's belly. He frowned and pointed at the knife-belt. “Off with that.”

Chuckling, Billy opened the clasp. The whole thing slid to the floor, quickly followed by his vest. In the faint moonlight coming from the window, Goodnight could see his friend's arousal – both in his pants and on his face. 

He reached out and tugged the hairpin out of the thick, black hair. Billy's eyes darkened, and he licked his lips. Together, they tumbled down onto one of the beds, Billy on top. His leg slipped between Goodnight's and he moaned at the pressure.

The pin fell from his hands and clattered out of sight, but neither of them cared.

Billy fumbled with Goodnight's fly, but couldn't get it open. Frustrated, he clenched his hand in the cloth. “Off. Now.”

Goodnight chuckled.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just nice to see your composure shattered for once.”

“Get those pants off, or something else might shatter,” Billy threatened, but without heat. Instead, he rubbed the bulge beneath him. “I thought you had _uses_ for my mouth?”

“Oh God,” Goodnight groaned. With shaking fingers, he opened his fly. Cool air caressed his finally freed erection. “Why didn't you – ah – say anything?”

“Why didn't you?” Billy asked and pulled down Goodnight's pants until they bunched up against his boots.

“Not sure how you would take it.” _And I love my front teeth_ , Goodnight added silently. He watched Billy place his hands besides Goodnight's hips and lean over him. That one strand of hair that always refused to stay in the bun brushed against the tip of his cock. He bit his lip. “You waiting for something or what?”

Billy grinned at him, teeth showing. “Just enjoying the view. It's rather... magnificent.”

He kissed the head of Goodnight's cock. His tongue darted out to rub against the foreskin and Goodnight gasped, head lolling back onto the mattress. The moment he wasn't looking, Billy swallowed down all of him, making Goodnight shout in surprise. His hips thrust upwards, into that hot, waiting mouth.

“Damn, Billy,” he slurred, half out of his mind with pleasure.

Billy hummed, and Goodnight could feel the sound vibrating around his dick. Sharp pleasure flashed through his body, singeing his nerve-endings. A heavy, urgent feeling settled in his loins. He tugged at Billy's hair.

“I'm cl–”

He didn't get to finish the sentence, because suddenly Billy's finger's found his balls and squeezed. With a groan, Goodnight thrust up again and fell over the edge. White-hot delight exploded behind his eyelids. Throbbing pleasure drowned his whole body. He writhed, chasing the flame, until it dimmed into a glow right beneath his skin.

Goodnight smiled dazedly, awash in the afterglow. “Wow.”

Looking smug, Billy peered down at him. Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to Goodnight's. They traded lazy kisses for a while, wrapped closely around each other – until Goodnight became aware of the hardness poking his leg.

Now, it was his time to grin. “Let's see if my mouth is as talented as yours,” Goodnight whispered huskily and as he pushed down, Billy went willingly, eyes ablaze. He was so handsome, and this time, Goodnight told him.

Neither of them got much sleep that night. Or the night after.

**Author's Note:**

> I just love the idea of Billy having a sweet tooth.  
> Oh and: You can not actually suck the venom out of a snake bite, attempting it would just make the venom spread faster. (But I'm pretty sure the people in 18xx didn't now that, haha ^^) Goodnight's bite could have been a “dry” bite, where no venom is injected. Still hurts like a b*tch.
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D


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